TAKEDOWN

by Anna Murray

  Phil nodded. "Behaving strangely? Did he interview anyone without you?" He tapped his foot anxiously as he listened. "OK. Get the old man on the phone. Find out what he told Mark."

  Phil clicked off and shook his head slowly. "We've got a snafu."

  Carrie blinked and shoved a bag of potato chips in his direction. "But nothing salt and grease can't fix."

  Moreno clenched his jaw and hissed through his teeth. "I wish."

  Phil's phone buzzed. He stabbed at the talk button and shoved it to his ear. "Moreno."

  "Mr. Moreno?" The voice on the other end sounded distant, hopeful.

  "Yes."

  "My name is Jack Anderson, and I need your help."

  Chapter 22

  Dan Decker called the shots from his spacious 17th floor office in a gray, neoclassical Manhattan skyscraper. Overseeing the production of fictitious monthly financial statements was always a stressor, and this month had been particularly grueling.

  Only Decker and his CFO were fully aware of the lie. The phantom trades had to be worked up by them exclusively, and with great care, but thanks to his Chelton liberal arts education, Dan was a master of creative nonfiction. It was easy to pick winning trades after the fact, and no customer ever checked with the National Association of Securities Dealers (NASD), the broker-dealer regulatory agency that recorded all trades, to make sure they really happened. Also, Dan had friends on the NASD Compliance Committee, and everyone over there had worked, or would go on to work, in the very industry they were supposed to regulate. They wouldn't eat their own. Even with these safeguards, he must be vigilant. The geek in Alabama was firing off letters to the SEC, but those were mostly dismissed as the work of a delusional hack.

  Needless to say, people trusted their Decker Fund statements. They always brought good news, and who could argue with consistently high returns on investments? He wagged his graying head. The richest were the most clueless, especially the trust fund babies. To them, "follow the money" was a line from a movie. "Due diligence" was something their lawyers and financial advisors were supposed to perform for a fee. Little did they know: Those guys were in bed with the system.

  Decker tilted back in his whale penis leather chair and scanned the cityscape to his view over the East River. He was secure. Over the years, he'd carefully built his collateral with the politicians. Generous campaign contributions to Senators and key Congress members were loans -- loans about to come due. He'd invested in the chair of the Financial Services committee to maintain the status quo, and better, to encourage repeal of regulations so Wall Street could run like freshmen on a drinking binge.

  Ah, but next week he'd begin on a new tack. With paper and a spreadsheet across his desk -- no computer file for a nosy tech to eye -- he'd begun the work of dividing holdings and deciding which issues to short before the main event. Later he'd compare his list with those of his cohorts -- BadBass, Crash, and Caver -- to make sure they were sufficiently diversified.

  His only regret was involving his son. The damn loose chatroom lurker in St. Paul had forced him to it. Thankfully, Mark was in a position to help, and he'd reported a stunning development today: The woman they sought had an accomplice. If that wasn't enough of an earthquake, Decker learned it was Dr. Jack Anderson, a man he knew through a past association. Anderson was an upper one-percenter -- among the most intelligent and well-versed on market strategies. He'd even written a book on the topic. It meant the woman was also competent. She'd done her research, and she'd deliberately pursued Anderson. It meant she knew the import of what she'd overheard -- overseen, to be more precise -- and she'd sought out the most expert assistance available to her locally.

  Decker pounded a fist on his sleek mahogany desk. His last communication with Mark, not an hour before, concerned him. Mark had discovered where the woman was hiding, and he was on his way to "take care of it" alone. Dan was worried, and he'd insisted on using the team, but Mark would have none of it. He said it had to be clean. A solo operation, he said. Mark was trained to kill, and an academic with a computer nerd made an easy target, he claimed. He'd get in and out quickly. "In and out." Decker repeated the words like a prayer.

  Dan hoped his son knew what he was doing. He had too much invested in this market rigging to tap the brakes.

  Chapter 23

  Mark Decker pulled off the county road, parked his car behind an old shed, and hiked across the cornfield stubble. Approaching the cabin from the east gave him the best cover, and anyone driving past on the low traffic lane would judge him, in his blaze orange parka, jeans, and boots, to be a hunter.

  He walked along in snow patches, crunching like crystal sugar beneath his feet. The air was frigid. Mark yanked up the zipper and pulled the jacket collar tight around his neck. He reached into his pocket and fingered the cold metal of his .45, an unregistered pistol he'd purchased in the parking lot at a gun show.

  Mark thought about his prey. The girl was an easy target. The man might be armed, but he doubted it. Math professors were mostly liberals, and, judging from his colleagues, he'd be the pacifist, anti-gun sort. Besides, the duo likely felt safe in their new hideout.

  Shortly, the cabin came into view, and Mark slowed his pace to survey the property. Ice dams were forming where the roof met the gutter. The stolen vehicle was tucked behind the place.

  Mark checked his breathing and moved between white pines and spruce until he came around to the front of the house. No cars out front. Except for a blue jay squawking all was quiet. After a minute he strode toward the front door as if he were the UPS man.

  Agent Decker knocked and called out. "Bill Otto sent me!" He wrapped his hand around the heat in his parka pocket.

  The door swung open.

  When a man came into view Mark shot without pulling his hand from the jacket. Three bullets flew point-blank into the stranger standing across the threshold, knocking his victim to the floor.

  His heart pounding, Mark ran past the fallen to find the woman. Oddly, he hadn't heard screaming as he'd expected. It meant she was paralyzed with fear, possibly hiding in a closet. Mark ran from room to room along the back of the structure, pulling open doors. He slid back the shower curtain and pushed aside clothing on metal closet rods. He checked under the bed. Then he stood still, listening for her breathing.

  Nothing. Then he heard grunting and scraping from the front hallway. Jesus. He'd killed the guy, hadn't he? He sure as hell wasn't going back to check.

  Mark ran out the back door, into the pines. Did he hit the wrong place? The car had matched up with the Maplewood PD stolen vehicle report. Where was the girl? Was she hiding outside?

  Mark took a moment to gather his wits and listen. He was sweating. He unzipped the jacket and crouched in the snow to think.

  While he was catching his breath he heard the cabin door slam. What the hell?

  In his haste Mark hadn't looked at the man he'd shot. Point-blank range meant he didn't have to -- unless he was wearing protection. He choked on his spittle. From his position in the trees he spied him at the front of the cabin. The man wore the brown county boy uniform, and even from this distance he clearly saw the star on his chest. Damn. Seven points. The heptagon star was the traditional symbol to ward off evil, used for the sheriff's badge. Mark touched his own kevlar vest. Damn. How did they know he was coming?Maybe they didn't. Maybe Anderson called the local police for another reason. In these no-name counties the sheriff patrolled like the rest. It meant nothing.

  A low voice bellowed from behind him.

  "He's in the trees, at your three o'clock!"

  The county cop turned in his direction. Mark looked behind and, too late, he saw a man with a rifle in an old deer stand about thirty yards distant.

  "Fire if you can take him," the county man yelled.

  Mark dove toward the base of two large trees for cover, but Jack Anderson tracked him in the sights of Ed's high velocity deer rifle.

  Jack Anderson drew in a quick breath and held it. Then he pulled the t
rigger and took down Mark Decker.

  Chapter 24

  After parking Jack and Jane at Ed Peterson's, Sheriff Schmidt returned to the Otto cabin to await reinforcements. A bad accident across the county had tied up resources, and he was down four officers due to the flu. It was a bad day for crime to visit Barron County.

  Not ten minutes after the sheriff departed, Jack, Jane, and Ed heard the three shots. Jane gasped and commenced frantic hair twiddling, and Jack lifted Ed's deer rifle from the high rack on the pantry wall. He loaded up while defending against a hail of protests.

  Ignoring Jane, the two men argued about which was the more qualified shot. Jack's youth and farsighted vision claim won out, along with the urgency of the situation. Somebody had to check on Schmidt. Jack bolted out of the house before Ed changed his mind again, and Jane peered out the window until she lost Jack in the trees. Minutes later Jane and Ed heard shouts and another shot.

  "Stay here," Ed sawed off. "I'm going out there." He kicked over two chairs as he ran out the door.

  Minutes ticked by. Anxiety gnawed at Jane's stomach, and through an eternity in that purgatory her head hurt. At last she heard sirens and police cars racing up the road. Whatever had happened appeared to be over. She headed out the door and through the snow, sans boots and cap.

  Jane reached the Otto cabin and was relieved to see Jack in the driveway, looking somewhat dazed. He was talking to a dark man who appeared to be in charge. Cop cars littered the road and driveway.

  "Jack, thank God! I thought I'd lost you!" She threw her arms around him and sobbed. Propriety be damned. It was a relief to find him unharmed.

  He held her close for a moment and talked into her ear. "Decker shot at Schmidt. I used Ed's rifle."

  Jack turned her out of his arms. "Jane, this is Phil Moreno from the Minneapolis FBI office. He's been working the case. He knows about Decker."

  Moreno thrust out a hand. "Pleased to meet you Ms. Nelson. I understand you have information we need."

  "Yes I do. I have a print of the chat I ran across online."

  "Chat?" His brown eyes widened.

  "On a board. I accidentally signed onto a private board where Decker and his buddies were making their plans. One detected my presence, and I suppose they traced me back to Valley View Web Design, but of course we worked behind a firewall, so they didn't know it was me -- not specifically."

  Moreno nodded. "I see."

  "I was with a client that, that day. When it happened, you know."

  "Yes. Mr. Longren. We spoke with him."

  "It was horrible."

  "Yes, that it was, Ms. Nelson. I need to know about the plan you referred to, and quickly. We can talk inside." He began walking. Jane and Jack strode beside him.

  "Sure. I have the printed transcript in my bag," she added. "Is Sheriff Schmidt OK?"

  Moreno grinned. "A couple bullets can't stop that old grizzly. He'll be hauling his bruised ribs home for supper."

  The trio entered the cabin, and Moreno flagged down Ray. "I need you to record this interview." He motioned them to sit around the kitchen table. Moreno took the seat at the head of the table, and Ray at the other end. Jack and Jane stared across at each other, one stunned from shooting a man, the other looking relieved because her nightmare was ending.

  "I understand you ran across something on the internet," Moreno began.

  "Oh yes, let me get it." Jane jumped up and went to the bedroom. She came back with the printout. "Here's what I overheard online."

  Moreno grunted as he scanned the page. "You caught a big one here."

  "Believe me, I wasn't trying. I was surfing to learn about fishing for the new client account."

  "Any idea who these handles are?"

  Jack spoke up. "I believe "Double D" is Dan Decker. That's his nick on the Street. The others I don't know for sure."

  Moreno passed the pages to Ray. "We need to get criminal investigation and DOJ on this right away."

  "Right boss."

  "I have a couple questions for you guys," Jack interjected.

  "Sure. Go ahead." Moreno twisted in his seat to face Jack.

  "Who chased us from my house? Was it you?"

  "No. It was the same hired thugs as hit the business. We've been after this group for some time now. They come up from south of the border, usually organized crime jobs. We're working with Mexican authorities."

  "So we were right to run," Jane concluded.

  "You should have come to us."

  Jack shot Moreno a look of disbelief.

  Moreno grimaced. "OK. Under the circumstances it appears you took the right action."

  "One more thing," Jack continued. "How did you know Jane was with me?"

  Conflict briefly played on the agent's features. "We saw a deleted email from you on Jane's work computer. It was meant for your wife -- you addressed it incorrectly." He cleared his throat. "Although there was no reply, we do follow up on everything, and we got lucky with it."

  Red crept up Jack's neck and face and he stared at Jane. "You didn't mention that. You said you came to me because you found my book at the library."

  Jane looked down at her hands resting on the table. "I did. Jack, I really don't remember reading the email. I get so much spam, and people were always sending us mail for staff at the Valley View school. Many emails to staff at the school were addressed incorrectly, because everyone automatically puts 'dot com' on the end of the address, even when it should be 'dot edu'. After a while you auto-delete the stuff, barely looking at it."

  She was grateful Moreno had the decency not to mention the flowers. Neither did Jack, but it was clear from their faces. They'd connected the dots, and they knew she'd read the email. They'd guessed she'd felt guilty when Jack's wife had died.

  Tears welled in Jane's eyes. "Are you done?" She jerked at the special lock of hair.

  Moreno swallowed. "Yes. For now."

  Jack was silently fuming, but she knew Jack enough to know he wasn't one to create a scene in front of the agent.

  "I'm tired." Jane rose and retired to the bedroom as if she were fleeing a 60-below windchill.

  Chapter 25

  Jane lounged on the couch at her sister's place, where she was trying to ease into the background of family life. Her apartment was trashed, and she was unemployed. Her sister, Diane, was happy to see her alive and well, and more than enthusiastic when Jane negotiated a stay at her house in exchange for kid sitting services.

  This morning Diane and Rob were feeding Jason and Kayla and preparing to walk them to the bus stop, after which they'd head to their respective jobs. Jane knew it was best to steer clear during family rush hour; her sister would have time for her later when they cooked supper together. For now she'd relax with the remote and her coffee. She settled her mug on a side table and pushed buttons as she surfed through the plethora of cable offerings. Hundreds of choices and no channel guide in sight. Typical.

  She'd been glued to the TV since the day after the shooting. Mark Decker's death was spun as a suicide. Moreno's superior, Alden Black, read a prepared statement in a news conference. He said a farmer discovered the body in rural Wisconsin, shot through the head. Decker's colleagues had reported "erratic behavior" in the days before his death.

  Jane supposed this small fiction was created to protect Jack and to buy the cops more time. It sat well with Jane; she didn't want her name out there.

  Today the suicide story was reinforced, as new reports of the Decker Fund's Ponzi scheme filled the airwaves. A sound bite hit her as she flipped past Fox News: "Imagine learning your father was the biggest financial schemer in history?" She stopped and listened, and she closed her eyes. They were interviewing a retired firefighter: "What does this mean to you, sir?" There was a pause and a stutter. "I-I lost my life savings in the Decker Funds.Now I'm penniless. My wife died six months ago, and I'm almost glad she isn't here to see this.

  Jane clicked the channel up button. She paused at CNBC to see businessmen, heads hanging
low, being led from a building in handcuffs. One was crying. They were unceremoniously stuffed into the back of a government sedan.

  The perp walk.

  A pretty commentator, known to traders as the "Hot Money Lady" was moving her soft pink lips beneath doe eyes.

  " . . . capping a two-year probe, Department of Justice investigations led to arrests today. Allegations of insider trading, and an undisclosed market manipulation scheme, have dozens on the Street scrambling for cover. The criminal and civil probes could ensnare investment bankers, consultants, hedge-fund traders and even analysts across the nation. Six arrests have been reported, and more are expected. According to federal officials, these investigations could potentially expose new, never-before-seen market manipulation strategies involving the use of computerized trading."

  "Ponzi-king Dan Decker remains elusive, and it now appears he has fled the country. Interpol is cooperating with US law enforcement, and Bank of Britain announced they ordered a freeze on Dan Decker's assets yesterday. Decker owns mansions in New York, Florida, Colorado, and London, and these assets have been seized. Legal experts say victims may be entitled to claw back funds as well as money obtained from the asset liquidation."

  "Decker Fund offices are occupied by SEC enforcement division workers, as they search and document the criminal operations. At least two large European banks are now claiming losses in the hundreds of millions of dollars. We are still in the early stages of investigating this story. We'll update you with breaking news as it happens."

  Jane grabbed the hair at the back of her head and twisted.

  A graphic, showing the DOW, Nasdaq, and S&P indexes, flashed over the screen. The Money Lady continued her commentary. "DOW is down thirty-five points, and falling, as the news rattles the street. Next up: Could "trojan horse" code in trading software give some players an advantage in the markets? Alba Financial Software Group researches this possibility, and CEO Bob Sellars will be here in the studio to tell us what they do to prevent a potential "rogue analyst" scenario, after the break. Stay tuned to CNBC, your source for breaking financial news."